


Golden As They Come

by boombashkas



Series: to kiss your honey-sweet eyes [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Crushes, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gay Princes in Love, Gay princes, M/M, Princes, Romance, Royalty, complaining, he has a huge ass family based on my own, medieval times, on Percy's part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 07:43:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17803883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boombashkas/pseuds/boombashkas
Summary: Prince Percy of Atlantis has been promised to Prince Jason of Olympus since they were little children. An alliance between their two kingdoms, set in stone. They will learn to love each other. They will cherish each other and serve each other, until their dying breaths. And after they die, the bards will tell tales of the love that moved two nations together.Percy would rather eat his own toe.





	Golden As They Come

**Author's Note:**

> stayed up all night to finish editing and uploading this!! have a v important flight tomorrow so i can't flood the notes like i usually do. but as usual, i would LOVE it if you guys kudos and comment after reading! thanks i hope you enjoy <333

The royal family of Olympus comes to visit Percy’s family for three to four weeks almost every summer, and every time they do, Percy is subjected to a whole week of preparations. He’s poked and prodded, stuffed into new clothes that are too itchy or too tight or both. His hair is primped and puffed every which way, his skin rubbed with every kind of scented oil known to man, his teeth scrubbed, fingernails polished, eyes rimmed with that ghastly black stuff his mother insists is good for his eyes. (If it’s so good for his eyes, why does he only have to apply it when King Zeus and his family are visiting?)

It’s horrible, but he could suffer through it if it ended there. Except, no – he has to take all sorts of _lessons_ as well. Enunciation lessons, riding lessons, dining lessons. He has to brush up on all his languages, learn all the newest political developments (which always make him angry enough to burst), revise all the polite Olympian greetings and all the impolite Olympian social faux pas (so he can make sure to do one and avoid the other – he hasn’t made up his mind yet which one is which). 

His sparring skills are inspected, which he doesn’t mind, because it gives him a reason to get in the arena. But all his other sporting classes, which his teachers had given up on long ago, start up again – archery, javelin-throwing, wrestling, climbing, and as many games involving a ball as possible. Percy doesn’t understand it. It’s not like King Zeus or Queen Hera will decide to break off the engagement if Percy doesn’t hit a perfect bulls-eye at the archery range.

The only ‘sport’ he’s allowed to excuse himself from is hunting. It turns his stomach when his brothers and sister ride back from the woods near the palace, a dozen deer and other poor animals between them. What’s supposed to be fun about killing something that’s completely harmless?

Triton tells him he’ll have to change his mind about that once he’s married, when Prince Jason turns twenty. Apparently, the whole Olympian royal family is full of bloodthirsty barbarians. They have a hunt every day. Percy believes it. He bets their precious little Golden Prince leads all of them.

It’s been a few years since Percy’s seen him last (despite him being Percy’s betrothed, King Zeus and Queen Hera mostly opt not to bring him along when they visit Atlantis, which seems like the most bone-headed thing to do, but then, Percy doesn’t expect anything less from Olympians) but he still remembers him well. 

Tall, pale, blue-eyed, and hair as golden as his name. He would be someone else’s dream come true – but not Percy’s.

“I sincerely hope,” Percy grunts as the royal blue velvet coat is strung tightly shut around his torso, “that Prince Jason has to go through the same tortures I do whenever you go visit Olympus. Otherwise, I think it’d be enough for us to declare war.”

“Don’t be silly, Percy,” his father says as he inspects him. “Our relations with Olympus have never been better. And this is hardly a torture. Turn around.”

“ _You_ don’t think that because _you’re_ not the one being trussed up like a bird,” Percy says as he waddles in a circle. “And how can you say that about Olympus? Does no one but me remember the time they _massacred_ thousands of us?”

“That was centuries ago,” his father says dismissively. “And to be fair, we _did_ massacre them back.”

“I can’t believe you. King Oceanus didn’t die by the hand of those treacherous Olympians just for us to go marry them today.”

“I don’t think we fare any worse for the death of King Oceanus. He beat his sons with riding crops, and disowned the weakest one.”

Percy gives his father a withering glare. “I think I’d prefer the riding crop.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Percy,” Percy’s sister Kymopoleia says from where she’s lounging on the bed, “You whine and complain like this _every_. _Single_. _Summer_. Aren’t you used to it by now?”

Percy glares at her. All of his older siblings are married, and most of them don’t live at the palace anymore. However, at this time of the year, for the Great Olympian Visit, everyone makes certain they are at the palace for a few days at least, if only to receive them. 

Percy loves his siblings but he also hates them, especially right at that moment. “You can leave my room if you don’t like my whining and complaining.”

“No one likes your whining and complaining,” Percy’s brother Sciron says from the window-seat. “But your room has the best lighting at this time of day, so.”

“There’s even better lighting outside in the gardens. Just jump right out the window and you’ll get there in the blink of an eye.”

“Hush, Percy, that’s enough,” Percy’s mother says. She steps towards him and pats him lovingly on the cheek. “Is it too tight? It looks too tight.”

Percy’s mother calms him down like no one else can. “Yes,” he says, trying not to pout.

“Let’s not use this one, then,” his mother says to the team of seamstresses and tailors. “The looser sea-green one maybe?”

“That fit him two months ago,” his father says, pointing to the coat Percy’s suffocating in.

“That was two months ago,” his mother says.

“Hmm,” his father observes.

“He’s a growing boy.” His mother pinches his cheek. “And so handsome too.”

“Mom!” Percy groans and shrugs her off.

“Mother,” his father corrects.

Percy huffs. “ _Mother_ , then. Can I be excused please? I can’t breathe with so many people here. Not you,” he corrects quickly, looking at the seamstresses, “My siblings have a knack for making a room ten times smaller than it is.”

“Be nicer, Percy,” his father says. “Your siblings are all you have in this world.”

“Yes, all eleven of them,” Percy rolls his eyes. “May I go now?”

His parents have barely finished nodding by the time he storms out of the room. Behind him, he can hear his father say, “He’s being a bit difficult, isn’t he?” and his mother answer, “It’s alright, you know their visits are always upsetting for him.”

That instantly makes him feel horrible. Usually, he prides himself on being rational and even-tempered. Sure, he can be a bit full of himself sometimes, but who isn’t? He only ever acts insufferable in front of certain people – he would never treat anyone working in the palace or any of the general Atlantean people that way. The people who will love you even after you treat them badly are the last people you should be treating badly. And he knows that should include his mother and father too.

He takes a walk around the gardens, his guilt like a stone in his stomach, and then returns to his room with an apology ready on his tongue. He barely gets a word out, though, because everyone is on him in an instant.

He’s pushed into the baths, half-submerged, with a bunch of people pulling at his hair and another few at his face, before he manages to splutter out, “What’s going on?!”

“King Zeus and Queen Hera are early!” one of the attendants squeaks out as he rubs over Percy’s face with some kind of lotion.

Percy’s heart drops into the water. “They’re already here?”

The attendant nods in panic. “And,” he adds, “Prince Jason is with them too!”

~*~

Fifteen years ago, when Atlantis and Olympus suddenly decided a marriage was needed to strengthen their alliance, Percy was unlucky enough to be the youngest and only member of the Atlantean royal family to not already be promised to someone. And Jason was, by some unhappy coincidence, right there, ready to be scooped up. And so it was arranged that once Prince Jason had reached his twentieth year, which was the age Olympians considered a royal marriage to be the most auspicious, they would be married.

Prince Jason was, if Percy remembered correctly, a year younger than Percy, who was eighteen. Percy supposes he should be grateful that Jason is close to his age. He knows horror stories about age differences that are more chasms than gaps. His oldest sister, Charybdis, is married to a man almost twenty years her senior. Percy would feel worse for her if she wasn’t always a complete monster to him.

Only three years left of the unattached freedom Percy basked in. These horrific annual month-long visits only served as unwelcome reminders for the inevitable. They had already been unbearable enough without the presence of the aforementioned Golden Prince, but now that he’s here, it’s almost like he’s mocking Percy.

He hasn’t stopped staring at Percy since they greeted each other. Percy knows he stumbled over the words a bit – the Olympian language is much simpler than the Atlantean language, which, for some reason, makes it harder for Percy’s tongue to grasp – but it wasn’t such a huge mistake it should warrant the angry stare Percy’s receiving now.

But Percy can do one better. He glares right back.

The Golden Prince blinks, and then looks down at his plate. Percy just barely manages not to smirk.

It’s been almost three years since they met last. Percy was only fifteen then – tall and gangly, with bad posture and even worse skin issues. He knows Prince Jason was fourteen at the time, but Percy’s memory betrays him. It paints Jason the way he had seemed to Percy then – untouchably confident and blindingly beautiful – instead of the way he probably actually was, as young and awkward as Percy himself.

At least he could blame that image of Jason on his flawed memory, though. This Jason, sitting across from him on the other side of the giant dining table, is even more perfect than Percy could have ever imagined.

Percy wishes the table was smaller. He would kick him throughout the whole dinner.

“And how is sparring going, Prince Percy?” King Zeus says suddenly. “I’ve heard you’ve become quite adept at it.”

King Zeus has the most extraordinarily blue eyes Percy’s ever seen. He shares that with his children. (All two of them – Percy’s father should really learn something from King Zeus.)

“It’s going well,” Percy replies. “I’ve tried my hand with different types of swords, but I think a broadsword is the best for me. It feels more balanced.”

“Oh, indeed?” King Zeus’s eyebrow pops up. “Prince Jason fights with a broadsword too. He’s very good with it. Aren’t you, son?”

Percy turns to him, eager to hear him speak. What will he do: be humble, or step up and parade his talents? Percy knows what he would do. You have to let the competition know who they should be scared of, after all.

“Not so good I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to learn something new,” Jason says, eyes locked with Percy’s. “If Prince Percy would teach me.”

Laughter and murmurs all around the table. Percy’s parents look a bit surprised, but his mother recovers quickly enough.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” she says, “I’m sure he’d be delighted. Wouldn’t you, darling?”

Jason doesn’t move his gaze once. Percy can read him easily enough. Forget the arena; the real battle has already started.

“Of course,” he says easily, “It’ll be a learning opportunity for both of us.”

~*~

After dinner, everyone retires to the sitting room – so they can all “properly sit and chat”, as Percy’s mother says. They need to use the larger sitting room, mainly because of how many people they are: The king, queen, prince and princess of Olympus, along with the king, queen, nine princes, three princesses, various sons- and daughters-in-law of Atlantis. (And that’s not even including all of Percy’s nieces and nephews, who aren’t attending. Really, at this point, the size of Percy’s family is embarrassing.)

They haven’t been in the room for more than a minute when Percy spies none other than the Golden Prince himself making his way towards Percy from the other side of the room. Percy dodges his way to the only other person in the room he considers mentally sound right now, and picks her up.

“Hey there, little Stella,” he coos at her. “And how are you tonight?”

His youngest sibling (who will, hopefully, also _stay_ the youngest sibling) gurgles at him happily, reaching for his nose like always. She loves grabbing at it, like it’s the most noticeable thing about him. Percy would be offended if he wasn’t so smitten.

“Percy!” There’s a hiss and baby Estelle is whipped out of his arms in the blink of an eye. His older brother Hyrieus glares down at him, Estelle hoisted over one shoulder. “Are you really using the baby as a distraction?”

Percy barely stops himself from groaning out loud. “Just give her back!”

“No! Go talk to the prince. He’s looking over here.”

Percy knows that. He can feel the eyes boring into the back of his skull. It makes the hair on his arms stand on end. “I don’t want to talk to him,” he whispers. “He’s a louse. Did you see the way he was _taunting_ me about teaching me sword-fighting?”

His brother rolls his eyes. “You really are the most sheltered little boy in this whole kingdom if you think _that_ was a taunt. He’s trying to talk to you, don’t be rude.”

And with that, he walks off. Percy can only stare after him.

He knows Hyrieus is right. That doesn’t make him want to listen to him, though. Percy’s going to get back at him for taking Estelle away like that. Maybe a frog in his bed tonight… And his screams will definitely wake up Triton across the hall, so it’s two birds, one stone…

“Prince Percy.”

Percy turns around slowly. 

The Golden Prince is standing right behind him. Taller, even more blue-eyed, and even more golden now that Percy’s looking at him up close. His skin is gold, just like his hair. There’s a small scar on his upper lip, but it only serves to make him even more handsome. His shoulders are so wide Percy can’t see their families sitting behind him. His jaw looks sharp enough to cut glass.

He thinks he can bully Percy with that look in his eyes, but Percy hasn’t survived in a family of seven older brothers and two older sisters by being easily intimidated.

“Prince Jason,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “How did you like dinner? My mother remembered you liked the honey cakes last time you were here. She had them made especially for you.”

For some reason, Jason looks a bit startled. “Did she? But the last time I was here was years ago.”

“My mother’s memory is exceptional. Nothing gets past her.”

“Oh.” Jason’s face clears. “I suppose you share that with her, then.”

This gives Percy pause. What does he mean, exactly? “I suppose,” he agrees slowly.

His answer is the wrong one, because Jason says, “Would you like to go out to the garden with me? I like to walk a bit after I’ve eaten. And it would be a good chance to…” he trails off.

Percy would rather jump off a roof. “To?”

“Talk,” Jason finishes, then flashes Percy a blinding smile.

Oh, dear god. Does he really need to have perfect teeth too? 

Percy thinks about the offer. It’s possible the prince just wants to get Percy alone so he can murder him. Percy wouldn’t expect anything less from an Olympian. But it’s precisely _because_ he’s an Olympian that Percy knows he has nothing to fear. If he can’t best one of them in a combat, he isn’t worthy enough to call himself a prince of Atlantis.

And he likes to call himself that, quite a lot.

“Alright then,” he says. “Take your coat with you. It can get very cold once the sun sets. I don’t want to be known for getting the Golden Prince of Olympus sick, after all.”

~*~

When Percy announces to their families that they’re going for a walk around the gardens, he thinks they might dance for joy. His father looks like he’s about to burst into dance. His mother is the only one with enough presence of mind to ask him if they wouldn’t like to take a tour of the palace instead, seeing as how it’s already cold and dark outside.

“No need to worry, _Mother_ ,” Percy calls to her when they’re already halfway out the door. “I know my way. I would _never_ let Prince Jason get lost in the gardens.”

He doesn’t know if any of the Olympian royal family catches his sarcasm, but judging by the amount of glares he gets from his siblings, his own family definitely does. And when he turns around and sees Jason looking at him with a curious smile on his face, he wonders if Jason did too.

He should probably apologize for that. But oh, well.

“Oh,” Jason says when they step outside. The word sounds strange, almost like it’s punched out of him. He draws the coat tighter around himself. “It _is_ cold. I didn’t realize…” He turns to Percy. “I thought Atlantis was generally warmer than Olympus.”

His coat doesn’t have any pockets. What kind of self-respecting tailor doesn’t make a coat with pockets? “It is,” Percy says, leading them in the direction of the main gardens, which have the biggest pathways and the most beautiful plants. “But the nights can go either way. It depends on the sea breeze. I think it was warmer the last time you were here.”

Jason nods. “But that was quite a while ago. And I was only here for a week. I don’t remember very much of it, I’m afraid.”

His skin is already pinking from the cold. If Percy knew him a little better, he would be scolding him for making the same mistake every foreigner from the north makes when they visit Atlantis; they think because they’ve heard how warm Atlantis is, that it can never get cold. But that’s the beauty of Atlantis –all the seasons, in equal measure. 

He supposes he can’t blame Jason, though. He has lived in Olympus his whole life. He probably doesn’t know anything other than ice and snow.

And despite that, he still isn’t dressed for it. Percy’s siblings would have eaten Percy alive by now if he were that brainless.

“Here,” Percy says. He strips off his scarf and hands it to Jason, who looks at him with the wide eyes of a young doe. “Wind that around your neck and ears or you’ll catch a cold.”

“You don’t need to –“

“With all respect, Prince Jason, I do. If you fell ill, I’d never hear the end of it from my parents.” He pushes the scarf forward. “Please.”

Jason’s face is even pinker now. Percy isn’t sure if it’s from the cold or the embarrassment.

He takes the scarf. His fingers are chilly where they touch Percy, but what’s surprising is how hard and callused they are. Somehow, Percy was expecting the soft fingertips of a pampered prince.

He wraps it around his neck, then looks at Percy with his glittering blue eyes. “Thank you,” he says, voice muffled. “That was very nice of you.”

“I’m a nice sort of person,” Percy says. “And I suppose I should get used to this…”

He trails off, not wanting to think about it. He doesn’t even know why he said it out loud. A whole life lending his favorite scarf to the icy-looking Prince of Olympus. Why didn’t his mother strangle him in his crib?

They walk in silence for a few seconds. Then, Jason says, “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

Percy looks at him. He’s tucked the scarf underneath his jaw and is looking at Percy with something of a challenge glinting in his eyes. Percy remembers the incident at the dinner table, and lifts his chin. “What does happiness have to do with it?”

Jason smiles slightly. Percy feels like he’s lost. “You don’t think happiness could have any place in it?”

“In our situation?”

“In our marriage,” Jason corrects him.

It isn’t the first time Percy’s heard that word, but it’s the first time he’s heard it come out of Jason’s mouth. He almost stumbles over his feet and when he looks up, Jason is smiling a bit wider.

Percy narrows his eyes. Does the perfect prince think he’s gotten a strike in? “No,” he says emphatically. “I do not.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up. “No?”

Percy shakes his head. “No.”

“You sound quite sure of it.”

“That’s because I am.” And then, the blow: “We are thoroughly incompatible.”

To his greatest displeasure, Jason doesn’t seem ruffled by this at all. Instead, he seems _amused_ of all things. “Oh? In what way?”

“In every way,” Percy says, a little too loudly. He stops in the middle of the path so he can look Jason in the eye. Infuriatingly, he’s taller than Percy is, so it doesn’t exactly work.

“You’re an Olympian, first of all,” Percy starts.

In the strangest turn of events, Prince Jason – Golden Prince of Olympus – actually _snorts_. “That’s all it is?” he says. He’s grinning by this point. “You do realize, Prince Percy, that me being Olympian and you being Atlantean is the chief reason we’re engaged in the first place?”

“Yes, I _do_ realize that, _Prince Jason_ ,” Percy snaps. Who does this man think he is? “Did you happen to notice, eagle-eyed as you are, that I said ‘first of all’? Usually, that means there’s more than one reason.”

Jason doesn’t even flinch at Percy’s rudeness. He just smiles. “And they would be?”

“Well, you’re clearly quite capable of getting on my nerves. If you think I want to be married to someone who’s a constant pain in my – a constant pain to me, you have less brains than a Gygean sea pineapple. Just the fact that you didn’t even bring warm clothes, despite living in Olympus yourself!”

For the first time, he gets a reaction from Jason; he turns apologetic. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says, reaching up to unwind the scarf from around his neck. “Here –“

“Stop that, I’m trying to shout at you,” Percy grabs at the scarf and tightens it back. He wishes he could choke him with it. “And this is yet _another_ reason – you won’t go along with me when I’m shouting at you. You’re meant to _argue back_ , not look completely unmoved.”

Jason’s eyes are dancing with light. Percy doesn’t know why they’re so bright when it’s so dark outside. “Am I?” he says. “I can do that if you like.”

Percy huffs. “It’s not the same if you don’t mean it. What’s the fun in an argument if the other person doesn’t want to argue?”

Jason grins. “I didn’t realize arguments were meant to be fun.”

“You clearly haven’t grown up with eleven siblings,” Percy notes. 

“Oh, don’t underestimate Princess Thalia. She has single-handedly made sure I don’t have any of the ego an only son would usually have.”

His words bring Percy back to his senses. His hands are still in Jason’s scarf – _his_ scarf. They’re standing much too close together.

What is that smell? Is it Jason? It’s heavenly. 

Percy clears his throat and takes a step back. “Yes,” he says, “ _The_ only son. The Golden Prince, as it were.”

If Percy didn’t know better, he’d think Jason looked disappointed. Percy really must be out of it. Could there possibly be a mind-altering substance in Jason’s perfume?

“I don’t really like when people call me that,” Jason says. “It doesn’t sound like me in the least.”

“Doesn’t it?” Percy’s teeth are starting to chatter. “It seems very fitting.” He hadn’t realized how warm he’d been before, when he’d been closer to…

“What do you prefer, then?” Percy continues, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll make sure _not_ to call you that when we argue, if it’ll get a rise out of you.”

That makes Jason smile again. It’s only when a curious warmth spreads across Percy’s chest that he realizes he said that specifically _because_ he knew it would make Jason smile. He _wanted_ Jason to smile.

What is happening to him?

“Jason,” Jason says, “Just Jason. And you?”

“His Highness Prince Perseus, Son of Sally, Second of His Name, thank you very much.”

Jason laughs. He tosses back his head and laughs. The line of his jaw is exquisite, and his laugh is even better – somehow, it’s deeper than his voice when he talks, and it rushes over Percy like the waves of the Atlantic Sea, soaking into his skin, wrapping around every inch of him.

He can only stare.

“Alright then, Prince Perseus,” Jason says, grinning. “Whatever you wish.”

~*~

Prince Jason, Son of Zeus. The Golden Prince. His Royal Highness, the Prince of Olympus.

Jason. Just Jason.

Percy is so confused.

~*~

The next day is the promised sword-fighting match.

Percy is half out of his wits because of Jason. He had hardly been able to sleep at all last night. The ache in his chest was terrifyingly reminiscent of how he used to feel about Annabeth, the daughter of Army Chief General Athena, or how he used to feel about Luke, who was one of Percy’s sword-fighting instructors when he was younger. It’s extremely worrying, and something Percy is trying not to think about.

He’s considered the possibility that Jason has deliberately muddled up Percy’s thoughts so he can best him today. He wouldn’t put it past him. He’s an Olympian, even if he is a particularly charming and particularly attractive Olympian. 

If that really is the case, Percy’s going to show him who Percy of Atlantis really is.

Percy would always have to refresh his athletic skills before the Olympian royal family visited, but it was rare that he had ever needed to display them. This was the first time he was wielding a sword in front of them, and he fully intended to show them something they would remember for the rest of their lives.

The arena is swept and cleaned in preparation for the game, even though it already was a day ago. The armory is well-stocked. Umbrellas are set up over wide comfortable chairs and sofas, next to long tables full of refreshments and delicacies. Servants wait by with platters of fruit and large fans. The whole arrangement is flanked by two large flags and their bearers – the deep blue-green of Atlantis, and the bright blue and gold of Olympus.

Both royal families lounge contentedly underneath the shade, chatting happily. Percy watches them from inside the arena, where he’s waiting to be strapped into armor for the fight. Crown Princess Thalia seems to be getting along well with both of Percy’s older sisters, like she does every year she comes to visit, but it’s always a shock to Percy. His older sisters are complete opposites of one another. No one can like both at the same time. He wonders what this says about Princess Thalia.

“Have you talked to her?”

He turns around. Jason has somehow managed to sneak quietly up on him once again. Percy doesn’t know how he’s managed it; he’s brought his whole entourage with him too.

He tries not to notice how his heart leaps to his throat at the sight of him. Jason’s even more dazzling in bright daylight.

“Talked to whom?” Percy asks.

“My sister,” Jason nods in her direction. 

“Of course, but only very briefly,” Percy says, watching her and Kym laugh at something Charybdis is pointing at in a book. Even Charybdis’ eldest daughter is laughing at it, and she never laughs at anything. How disturbing.

“She likes you,” Jason says.

Percy startles. “She does? She’s barely talked to me.”

“She remembers you very well from when we were little. And besides that, she has an instinct. She can tell what a person is truly like, and she’s usually never wrong.” Jason tilts his head and smiles at him. “Of course, I wasn’t expecting her to have any different opinion about you. I have met you myself, after all.”

Percy can feel his face reddening when he remembers the irrational way he had acted last night. Had he really _shouted_ at Jason? 

He hopes Jason assumes it’s the heat making him blush. “I would have thought meeting me would convince you of the exact opposite.”

“Not at all.” Jason continues smiling at him with that impossible smile. “Although I have no doubt that was your intention. I’m happy to inform you of your unmistakable failure.”

Percy can hardly breathe. How much more infuriating can this man get? He narrows his eyes at him. “If you’re trying to fluster me into losing the match, you can direct your energy elsewhere. I’m not an easily flustered person.”

Despite himself, he gets even more disconcerted when Jason’s smile widens. “I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “I didn’t realize I was flustering you.”

“You weren’t,” Percy says, “That’s what I was trying to say.”

“I see,” Jason says, laughing, “Then, like you say, I’ll try and direct my energy elsewhere.”

And with that, he walks away – which surely means that he’s admitting to trying to fluster Percy, doesn’t it? In which case, Percy has won this little verbal joust, hasn’t he?

Hasn’t he?

“Don’t take too long with the preparations, now!” Percy’s father’s voice booms across the arena. “We don’t want to give the sun time to reach its peak, do we?”

Percy gets the message. It’s time to fight.

~*~

Percy doesn’t consider himself a particularly humble person. He knows he has an overconfident streak, but it’s one he only brings to the surface when he thinks he needs to: in battles, in arguments, or in situations where he feels somewhat vulnerable (like, for example, when his betrothed and his whole family come to his house for a week or more, specifically to examine Percy head to toe, back to front, inside and out, ready to break off the whole thing if they think Percy isn’t worth their precious son, in which case, Percy’s father would surely take offense and call a state of war, and so the fate of the whole country rests on Percy’s frankly-not-that-strong shoulders and his ability, or in his case, his _inability_ , to be appropriately charming and coquettish towards someone he barely even knows, let alone likes, let alone loves, let alone wants to be _married_ to for the rest of his life).

So he has his weaknesses, but who doesn’t? He’s usually very confident in himself, and he’s not afraid to admit it. But there are a few exceptions he’s set for himself where only the utmost humility will be accepted: when he’s with his mother, when he’s with his younger siblings Tyson and baby Estelle, and when he’s with anyone who is obliged to call him Your Highness and treat him with respect, despite him having done the bare minimum in his eighteen years of existence to deserve even a shred of it.

He doesn’t want to be known as an arrogant prince. He doesn’t want his people to think he considers himself better than them. If that ever happened, he would consider it his greatest failure.

But one thing Percy loses no confidence over is this: swordfighting.

There is a whole list of his achievements for anyone who cares to know. Percy was the youngest in his family to pick up a sword for the first time, and also the youngest in a century to master it. He had a natural talent since he was a little boy, something that was proven by how fast he rifled through his teachers and instructors. They came as fast as they went, one after the other setting his sword in front of Percy’s parents and confessing they had nothing more to teach Percy. Luke Castellan, Percy’s favorite ever instructor, who then later turned out to be quite a pig when he travelled the Olympus and officially started calling himself a native Olympian (the gall of that man, and after Percy had given him his whole heart, albeit secretly and silently and without ever letting him know) was the most talented swordsman in the whole southern part of the kingdom at the time, and the only reason he had lasted as long as he did was because Percy suddenly (and conveniently) forgot everything his previous teacher had taught him (and Luke had to teach him everything all over again, what an absolute _tragedy_ ).

Percy had fought and defeated his father, his siblings, his brothers- and sisters-in law. He remembered a particularly awkward bout with Chief General Athena, who started looking at him completely differently after he disarmed here in under five minutes. His parents’ advisors, generals, and statesmen would all tsk as they watched Percy fight. “If only we were at war,” they would say, “that boy would run through an army like a fire across a dry forest.”

Atlantis had last been at war two hundred odd years ago. “You know you’re living in an age of luxury,” his mother would say, “when old men wish for war.”

“It isn’t ignorance, or even bloodthirst,” his father would say, “It’s pure awe. The desire to see a wild horse run free. How else would you ever know how fast it could go?”

Percy was that horse, and everyone knew it. 

Except for the Olympians.

~*~

However, it becomes apparent very quickly that this fight is not going to go the way Percy had been expecting it to.

Their families aren’t the only ones watching. There’s a small crowd of servants, swordsmen, trainees, most of them Atlantean, all of them fully expecting Percy to disarm Jason within seconds. Percy can feel their assurance in him, can see it in the way they lounge about smiling smugly, in the way they lean forward slightly, ready to burst into cheers.

There are no cheers. There is no celebration at all.

When the fight goes on longer than twenty seconds, there are murmurs of confusion in the crowd. At the forty second mark, it’s deadly silent. Every eye is on them. No one breathes.

A minute in, Percy sees his oldest brother Triton shift forward in his seat. Triton has trained in the military since he was sixteen, but Percy first defeated him when Percy was twelve and Triton was more than twice his age. 

Jason is a full year younger than Percy. He can hear the question spinning in everyone’s heads: What is going on?

It’s little comfort to know that the Olympian royal family and their entourage look just as shocked by this turn of events as the Atlanteans. Their faces had flown by in his peripheral vision during a split-second reprieve from Jason’s blade, but he had seen the set of King Zeus’ mouth. How pale Queen Hera’s face was.

Nothing better to remind them of why the marriage is so important. If Atlantis and Olympus were ever at war again, Percy and Jason would undeniably be at the frontlines. They would have killed hundreds of each other’s soldiers, and then one would die by the other’s sword.

It isn’t clear which would be which, though. 

Two minutes into the first bout of fighting, the swordsmaster announces it a tie. They start over.

The next fight goes the same way.

Percy’s mind is void of anything but the fight, calculating, examining, deciding: the shift of his weight in a feint, the snap of his wrist, the slide of his feet as he spins, the strength behind his lunges. He’s trying to find weakness, _any_ sign of weakness: sweat in Jason’s eyes, a tremble in his bicep. His feet slipping, his sword hand weakening, his armor catching. 

There are only so many places Percy’s eyes can snatch over before he has to defend a blow, or dodge to the side and try a hit at Jason’s ribs. Jason strikes him like lightning: fast and forceful. Percy’s arm jolts with electric pain at every hit to his sword, but he has to react just as quickly, because the next hit is at his chest.

The third round goes undecided as well, and by the fourth, Percy isn’t thinking anymore. Pure instinct drives him. His legs know where to go; his arms know how to act. His lungs are on fire and every intake of breath hurts. Sweat stings his eyes and his knees wobble. But through the haze of the fight, only one thought comes crystal clear to him: he will not let Jason win.

It’s only when the swordsmaster stops the fourth round and servants rush to Percy with water and cold cloths that Percy, through blurry eyes, gets his first proper look at Jason.

He looks like he was caught in a heavy monsoon rains. His hair is slicked back with sweat, pools of it in the dip of his collarbone, slicked across his neck, his arms.

But the look on his face… It’s one Percy has never seen before, not on Jason, not on anyone. His eyes are dark, intense. He’s panting as he looks at Percy, his mouth open and red and wet. He’s trembling with fatigue, but he looks like a wild panther, ready to pounce any minute.

This, more than anything, makes Percy’s head spin.

“Bravo!” a voice booms across the arena.

Their heads whip towards Percy’s father, who is now standing up, grinning wide, majestic and stately in his deep green robes, arms outspread. “Bravo!” he booms. “A battle worthy of princes! Outstanding!”

It breaks a spell over everyone else. Suddenly, their families are on their feet, clapping and congratulating both of them. The crowd joins in, a big smile on every face. They swarm around them, offering a drink, wiping at their necks, calling out words of admiration Someone throws himself in a deep reverential bow in front of Percy.

“Oh, no, please –“ Percy tries to bend down to lift him up, but his knees buckle. Thankfully, the swordsmaster pulls Percy out of the crowd with one strong arm to the centre of the arena.

He’s holding Jason with his other arm. They stop less than a foot apart from each other. 

Gone is the wild expression on Jason’s face. Now he’s grinning widely, openly, his damp hair falling into his eyes. “That was an _excellent_ game,” he says, and his voice is different somehow. “No one has ever fought me like that before. The rumors about you are true. You are truly…” he stops and shakes his head.

Percy stares at him. He recognizes that tone of voice. He’s heard it many times. Is Prince Jason of Olympus _gushing_ over Percy?

“Thank you,” Percy says automatically. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same. I’ve heard no rumors about you.”

Too late, he realizes how Jason could take offense to that. Instead, he tosses back his head and laughs. The line of his throat is glistening with sweat. “I would hope not,” he says, “I tried very hard to keep it that way.”

Percy blinks. “You did?”

Jason grins. “I wanted to see how you fought first. I wanted to see you fight me like you would anyone else.”

“You didn’t want to give me the advantage of knowing how good you are.” 

He nods. “I caught you by surprise. Didn’t I?”

He certainly did. Every muscle in Percy’s body is aching fiercely, and all he wants to do is lie down, but at the same time, he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the way Jason’s sweat runs down his temple.

“Come on then, Prince Percy, Prince Jason!” Percy’s father calls from under the canopy. “Let’s get you two inside and cleaned up in time for lunch. I’m sure you’ve worked up a hearty appetite.”

“After you,” Jason says, extending his hand out, grinning all the while.

Percy leads him out of the arena, surrounded by the gleeful cheers of the crowd. His father claps him hard on the shoulder. Tyson grabs at Percy’s hands in excitement, babbling on and on about the match. Crown Princess Thalia is looking at Percy with a new light in her eyes.

Percy didn’t win but he didn’t lose either. The fight was announced a draw, after four whole rounds. Percy fought hard, his sisters tell him. It was impressive, his brothers deign to let him know. He must be tired, he should rest a bit, his mother says.

But he doesn’t feel like resting at all. His body might be drained, but there’s a tingling in his fingertips. Something pulls at the corners of his mouth. His heart feels as weightless as a kite, but strung through and caught on something that keeps tugging at him.

When he gets the courage to look at Jason, he’s already looking back.

~*~

Percy’s sitting in front of the giant dressing table mirror in his room, trying to will his muscles to cooperate with him.

He’s spent the next hour or so soaking in a perfumed bath, massaged with warm oils. It should have been heaven, but his brain wouldn’t stop running down certain avenues that he would have much rather avoided.

It hadn’t mattered much, though, because he’d been yanked out of the bath all too soon, ready to once again be prettied up. Now, with his hair looking effortlessly silky, skin smooth and even, lips pinked, eyelashes darkened, he sits in his undershirt and trousers, trying to summon the energy to get up and put his clothes on.

There’s a knock on the door. “Percy,” his mother called. “Aren’t you ready yet, darling?”

Percy is too busy staring at himself in the mirror to reply. The door opens and his mother peeks her head in.

“Oh,” she says, startled, “you haven’t changed yet.”

“No,” Percy answers.

She steps into the room. “Is everything alright, sweetheart?”

Percy meets her eyes in the mirror, and she immediately understands. She takes a seat on the bench next to him and pulls him close.

Percy hugs her back. She smells like she always has, since he was a little child: flowery, like the fresh roses from her personal rose garden, and sweet, like the sweetmeats she’s always nibbling on. In a palace too big to truly be a home, his mother’s hugs are sometimes the only place he feels safe and at peace.

“I like him,” she says after a while.

“So do I,” Percy says into her shoulder. 

She laughs. “And that’s the problem?”

“Of course it is!” Percy pulls away. “I didn’t expect to actually like him! I was fully prepared to terrify and traumatize him for the rest of his life, but he’s been so kind to me. How am I supposed to be rude to him if he won’t be rude back?”

His mother laughs again. “Only _you_ would be disappointed that the person you’re about to spend the rest of your life with is actually looking forward to it.” She puts a hand to his cheek. “It’s something to be celebrated, my darling. I’ll admit even I was worried what kind of person he would show himself to be. He was only just a boy the last time he was here, and he hardly said a word, but this time he’s old enough to have grown into his own character, and I was worried he would be a... a…”

“Barbarian? Oaf? Thick-headed molly-coddled murderous brute of a prince?” Percy sighs mournfully. “So did I.”

“But,” his mother says, laughing, “he couldn’t be farther from that. Or, at least, that’s what I have observed. Obviously, you’ve been able to observe him much more closely.”

“Obviously,” Percy says, and then, damn it all to hell, he actually _blushes_.

His mother is tactful enough not to laugh at him right at that moment. She’ll probably do it later while she’s telling his father about this whole conversation. 

“Don’t torment yourself, sweetheart,” she says, taking his hands in hers. “Love isn’t a weakness. Shame and embarrassment have no place in it.”

“I know that, Mom,” Percy says, squeezing her hands. “It’s just, in this case…” he wrinkles his nose. “Hate seems a much more appropriate emotion.”

“Does it?” She brushes a soft curl out of his eyes. “Maybe it’s time to put your prejudices behind you. Judge Prince Jason for the person he is, not for the one you’ve imagined in your mind. You’ll find it’s much easier to love someone than it is to hate them.”

“What if I _want_ to hate them?”

Her smile widens. “I don’t think you do. I think you like Prince Jason _very much_.”

His face burns like a furnace. “ _Mom_!”

She laughs. His mother laughs just like his baby sister does, the same melody, the same dimples. “Don’t worry,” she says, “I think the feeling is very much mutual.”

“Do you really think so?”

This just makes her laugh harder. “Get dressed,” she says, standing up. “And after we eat, you can give Prince Jason a tour of the palace, hmm?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “You’re very cruel to me, _Mother_ ,” he states.

“Am I?” She comes to stand behind him as she smothers her laughter at his expression and then, in a signature gestures, strokes his hair in place. “You look so handsome.”

“It’s all the eye paint and the hair puffing,” Percy says, trying to dodge her fingers.

“Hush,” his mother admonishes him, “Those are just to enhance the qualities already present. You didn’t have a long string of admirers for nothing, after all.”

Now that he’s facing the mirror, he can see exactly how red he turns. “Mom, please don’t mention that in front of the guests,” he moans, “You’ll embarrass me.”

“I’ll embarrass myself,” she giggles. “I can’t believe I really employed a stable-boy who called me a goddess for giving birth to you. It was one of the most shocking moments of my life.”

Percy groans. “Did you really have to remind me? I didn’t go riding for a week. I still don’t understand why you didn’t give notice to him right then and there.”

“Because it would be cruel.” She shakes her head as she strokes his hair. “He was just a young boy expressing himself. You really shouldn’t have threatened to throw your dessert at him.”

“Well, he really shouldn’t have burst into the middle of our dinner to make a bizarre declaration of love!”

“I do admit the timing was maybe not the most ideal,” she says, “But soon you’ll realize, when you’re in love, you have to be a bit bizarre about it.”

“Mom, I’m not going to declare my love to Prince Jason over dinner, and you can’t force me to.”

“Alright.” She grins. “I never mentioned the idea.”

“Yes, but you implied it.”

“I don’t believe I did.”

“ _Mom_.”

She just laughs, leans down, and kisses his cheek. “Don’t take too long now,” she says, giving him one last hug, “Prince Jason might get worried.”

“Mom!” Percy cries in exasperation, but she’s already gone.

She’s been spending too much time with Kym. They’re both skilled experts at embarrassing him. But, he supposes, as his family, that _is_ their job. 

And he’s not completely oblivious to what his mother had been trying to do, and succeeded in: ten minutes later, when he’s dressed and ready to go, he’s feeling a hundred times lighter and happier than he had before.

~*~

Lunch is a frustrating affair. Percy and Jason are, as per tradition, sat on opposite sides of the table. Mealtimes are not considered appropriate occasions for two betrothed to sit together and talk to each other, which Percy finds absolutely absurd. He’s a firm believer that you can find everything you need to know about a person over a bite to eat. 

Apparently, whatever old and wrinkly ancients came up with these traditions didn’t agree with Percy. So he and Jason sit and stare at each other from across the room, while the adults around them prattle on and on about everything two ruling families could possibly talk about (which is mostly politics).

The promised post-lunch tour of the palace doesn’t start straight after lunch, either. They all retire to the sitting room again, where they talk for a distressingly long time about the same things they had already discussed at the dining table. 

After that’s thankfully over, Percy’s mother asks Jason if he would like Percy to give him a tour of the palace, at which point everyone’s heads collectively turn to stare at Percy, who instantly gets the feeling he should have been the one to pose the question in the first place.

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Would you?”

Jason blinks, then his face brightens in a smile. “Of course. After you.”

And so, Percy tours the whole palace with him, starting with the sitting room. He’s acutely aware of the fact that all the servants and guards are staring at them, and also trying very hard to not look like they’re staring at them, and so he makes sure there’s a respectable walking distance between the two of them, and that they never look into each other’s eyes for very long. Usually, he wouldn’t care what people were thinking about him, but strangely, in this instance, he doesn’t want to misstep in any way. 

He doesn’t want Jason to think badly of him, he realizes. It’s a terrifying thought. 

Jason, for his part, is the perfect guest. He walks beside Percy, looking youthful and radiant, a perfect prince. He keeps the distance Percy establishes, and talks to him politely but warmly, full of laughter and smiles. He asks endless questions, his curiosity about the Atlantean way of life overwhelming.

More than anything, Percy can’t believe how easy it is to talk to him. To fall into the rhythm of a life-long friendship. He finds himself wishing Jason had been this talkative the last time he had been here. Maybe Percy would be able to remember him then.

The tour ends in the library. Two steps in, and Percy can tell Jason’s besotted. He stares up at the wide open windows with wonder, strokes his fingertips over the spines of the books, steps close to the shelves to breathe in a large lungful of air. If this is what Prince Jason looks like when he’s in love, Percy wants to see it every day.

It’s a thought more terrifying than his brother Chrysoar’s breath first thing in the morning.

“We have this book in our library too,” Jason says, pulling out a giant monster of a book and setting it carefully onto the nearby oak table. “Atlantean tales from the sea. Translated, though. And not quite so well-kept.”

Percy takes a seat on the table. Jason is a little slow to take his, still mesmerized by the book. His eyes dart along the pages. “Your collection is very well-maintained,” he says finally, looking up at Percy. 

“Yes,” Percy says dumbly, “Our head librarian is very good.”

“They absolutely are,” Jason beams. “What a gem of a library. If only ours was this open and beautiful. I would spend all day reading.”

“You’re welcome to ours,” Percy blurts, “You can spend however long you like in here. No one will bother you. And we have very comfortable seating areas.” He gestures to the corner of the library, full of window-seats, armchairs, sofas, and a large comfortable rug on the ground.

“I would love to,” Jason says, “If you would stay here with me.”

Jason’s eyes seem even brighter in this light. “Oh,” Percy says, trying not to blush. “I, uh, I must confess, I’m not much of a reader.”

“That’s alright. I could read to you.”

Jason’s voice, smooth and deep, recounting old Atlantean tales into Percy’s ear as they lounge together on the rug in the corner. Percy’s brain seems to have stopped working.

“That –“ Percy nods. “That sounds nice.”

Jason beams in pleasure. “Shall we, then?”

They move together to a large squashy sofa, bubbling with cushions of every size and pattern. Jason settles himself comfortably, and with grin in place, opens the book and starts to read.

He looks so different at that moment. Carefree. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright, his laughter ringing. When Percy shuffles closer to him, he twists to face him. And when Percy laughs at the way he stumbles over a few of the Atlantean words, instead of flushing in embarrassment, he laughs and looks at Percy in the strange soft way Percy still doesn’t understand.

The story Jason begins to read is about a sailor who falls in love with a siren’s call, follows it into the deep of the ocean, and then is subsequently skinned and eaten alive by the siren and its whole coven. Percy’s always thought the story was a bit silly. What kind of self-respecting sailor isn’t already scared half to death just by the thought of seeing a siren on the sea foam?

When Jason is finished, Percy tells him what he thinks of the tale. Jason’s eyebrows rise. “You don’t think someone could still fall for something they’re terrified of?”

“Not at all,” Percy says. “I know it’s meant to be an ancient legend of wisdom, but whoever wrote this must have been partaking of something definitely mind-altering and possibly illegal if they think a sailor would ever get within ten leagues of a siren’s call.”

Jason laughs. “Kleio.”

“Pardon?”

“The poet Kleio wrote this, roughly a thousand years ago.”

“Oh.” Percy frowns. “Was this Kleio Olympian?”

“There was no Olympus or Atlantis then. No Tartarus or Elysium either, in fact. They were all one empire. But if you mean, was she from the area we call Atlantis today, then yes, she was. She was born in a village near the Straits of Hercules, although, of course, they weren’t the Straits of Hercules then. She was a peasant poet, so I doubt she could afford to live there now.”

“You seem to know more about my history then I do, Prince Jason,” Percy says, trying his best not to sound bitter.

“Actually, it’s just my good fortune that you happened to ask about this particular story,” Jason says, unfazed. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ve loved it ever since your father told it to us years ago. I researched it quite a bit after that, so I’m somewhat of an expert of Kleio and her works.”

“Wait,” Percy holds up a hand. “My father told you this story?”

“He told _us_ this story. Do you not remember?”

Percy’s father has told Percy this tale many times, but it boggles his mind as to why he would ever relate it to Prince Jason. 

His confusion must be apparent, because Jason gently closes the book and says, “It was many years ago. I think we were both very little, younger than ten, maybe. It was during one of our visits here, and your father told us children this story while we sat out in the gardens and had breakfast.” He smiles then, bright and beautiful. “It’s one of my favorite memories of Atlantis.”

Percy stares at him. “I don’t remember that at all.”

Jason’s smile widens. “You wouldn’t. You and your siblings were chasing after each other. My sister was listening, as were your older siblings, because they were obligated to. I was listening because it sounded interesting.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s not very princely of me.”

Jason shakes his head, laughing. “You were just a child. I think it’s quite natural for a child to be uninterested in old tales. I know my sister was. She wanted to join your play, but as Crown Princess, she has certain obligations and restrictions. As for me, I’m afraid I’ve always been a bit…” he hesitates. Percy watches his pink mouth open, close. “A bit strange,” he finishes.

“What do you mean? You’re the perfect prince. My father would love a son like you.”

“Yes,” Jason says, and then turns away. Percy gets the distinct feeling he’s said something wrong.

“But I wouldn’t say it’s unnatural,” he says quickly, loudly, “to not want to run around and play. Some children are like that. Everyone is born different.”

“Yes but,” Jason coughs out a laugh, “A child not jumping and leaping around –“

“ –is still a child like any other. People have separate dispositions as adults. It would be ridiculous to expect all children to be the same. And anyway, what’s the fun in everyone being copies of each other? I wouldn’t like to live in a world like that, and I don’t think you would either.”

Jason watches Percy with a small smile on his lips. His eyes have somehow become even brighter, which makes Percy’s head spin. “I wouldn’t,” he says finally, his voice quiet. “Although I will add that it’s much easier to make friends with someone you admire if you’re capable of the courage needed to walk up and talk to them.”

“Who says the person you admire is worth admiring in the first place?” Percy shrugs.

Jason tosses back his head and laughs. The bump of his Adam’s apple looks almost sweet somehow. 

He laughs for a long, good while. Percy just sits there and stares at him, mesmerized. When he’s done, he’s grinning widely, with one fist pressed against his mouth, eyes dancing. 

“I meant you,” he says, voice bubbling with laughter.

Percy blinks. “Me?” he asks dumbly.

“I always used to admire you from afar, even when we were young children. You were so vibrant, so outspoken. No one could tell you no. I wanted very badly to be friends.”

“Really?”

Jason nods, then pushes his hair back, almost shyly. “I knew since I was very little that we were betrothed, but even if I didn’t, I think I would have felt the same way. I was forever trying to get your attention.” He ducks his head, and now his cheeks are a dusty pink. “But you never looked my way twice.”

The color is so soft against his skin, Percy wants to stroke it. “Oh?”

Jason shakes his head, then glances up at him once. “You were much more interested in being friends with Thalia than me.”

Even through the haze in his head, Percy can pull out memories from a distant time. “She used to climb trees with me and my siblings,” he remembers suddenly. “And her dress would be muddied, and she would be scolded, but she didn’t care.”

Jason nods. “That sounds like Thalia.”

“We were so young, I’d forgotten all about that.” The Crown Princess Thalia he sees today, the one he’s seen for the past few years, seems so separate from that memory.

“But I don’ t…” he has to clench his hands in the soft cushion of the sofa in order to not reach across and trace Jason’s strong collarbone. “I don’t remember you.”

Jason blushes even harder. The color spills across that collarbone. Percy wants to kill someone. “I’m not surprised,” he says, “I was very quiet.”

“But,” Percy’s tongue feels like it’s too big for his mouth, “you’re not anymore.”

“I am. But I say what I want to, when I want to. I speak up when I want something.” And then he looks at Percy in the eyes. 

Percy’s chest feels like a delicate drum skin his heart is determined to beat its way through. With the flush still on his cheeks, Jason’s eyes look even bluer. Percy’s aware of nothing but that, and the razor-sharp attention Jason is giving him.

“I don’t look like this every day,” Percy’s mouth says. “Especially not when I wake up in the mornings. They did a lot to me – to my hair and my face and my eyes, I mean. And the clothes and ornaments too – it’s all fake.”

“Alright,” Jason says quietly, eyes still focused. “The same goes for me.”

“But I’m sure you look like,” he motions to Jason’s whole person, “somewhat like this. I don’t – I mean – my eyelashes aren’t this thick, is what I mean.”

The corner of Jason’s mouth lifts up. “I already knew that, but alright.”

“My point is,” Percy frowns, trying to put some sort of gravity in his voice even while all he does is want to reach across the negligible space separating them, “My point is, if you find yourself attracted by what I look like –“

“No,” Jason says instantly, “I mean, of course, it’s part of it, but I know what you’re trying to say and,” he shakes his head, “no.”

Percy’s frown deepens. “I won’t inherit much from my parents,” he says, switching tactics. “I have seven brothers and two sisters in line before me, and Triton will get the lion’s share of it. I might get an island, at most.”

“Understood.”

“And whatever I inherit, I likely won’t be sharing it with you.”

Jason laughs. “Alright.”

“Not because – not because I won’t want to,” Percy says, horrified at himself. “It’s just that my father insists on including a clause on all his children’s marriages, and none of us are allowed to share such things with our spouses, because he doesn’t want us taken advantage of –“

“I understand,” Jason interrupts gently. “King Poseidon is even wiser than everyone says.”

“But – but you’ll have nothing to gain from me. And no influence or power, either – no one listens when the eighth prince of nine speaks –“

“I find it quite difficult to believe that no one listens when _you_ speak,” Jason says, “but alright.”

“And I’m not going to be easy to be married to,” Percy rushes out. “I was meant to be pleasant to you for the short time you’re here, and I hardly managed that. I’m just not capable of it like everyone else is. I will most likely make your life very hard.”

“I know,” Jason shrugs.

“No, I need to emphasize this. I didn’t even take the courtesy lessons they give all royalty when we’re young. I would always run away and the teachers never noticed, because we were so many children.”

“Alright.”

“Prince Jason,” Percy looks him in the eye. “In all my eighteen years, I have not yet managed to decipher which spoon or fork is used for which dinner course. I just copy whatever everyone else is doing, and I don’t care enough to remember for the next time.”

Jason bites his lip to stop his laughter, but some of it still spills out. “I see,” he says, and it’s devastating how charmed he sounds.

“You’re the only son of your family. You’re what a real prince looks like, talks like, walks like, eats or sleeps or laughs like.” Percy shakes his head. “You have your own crown, instead of just a circlet. You’ve been on diplomatic missions to every province in your nation, and then every nation besides. You’ve been trained to be an advisor for Crown Princess Thalia since you were a child. You’ll have your own consultative committee when you turn twenty. Your feet have probably never touched bare earth!”

“What you’re saying is,” Jason says. “We’re very different.”

“Yes,” Percy agrees. “I know this has been arranged since we were children, but you seem to not…” He dodges Jason’s eyes, his face burning. “You seem to not mind. You seem to be… to be looking forward to it. You say you’ve wanted to be friends since we were little, and now, you seem… to want more. But if that’s true,” he lifts his chin, “then I want to be sure you understand the kind of person I am. I won’t deceive you. And I won’t indulge you either. Will you accept me for who I am?”

Jason’s eyes pierce through him, but his soft smile lights a different kind of fire in his heart. “Only if you accept me too,” he says quietly.

Percy stares at him. “Well, of course, I will. What could there possibly be about you that I wouldn’t accept?”

Percy only blinks, and in the next second, there’s a warm set of lips pressed to his, the soft point of a nose pressed into his cheekbone. And then Jason moves away.

It happens so fast, Percy’s brain hurries to catch up. And when it does, its first course of action is to make Percy’s face turn bright red.

“Oh,” he says. His voice comes out as a croak.

Jason’s mouth is hanging open in an O and his ears are the pinkest Percy has ever seen them. “I, um,” he stutters, hands flitting to his hair. “I meant to say thank you but I – I got a bit… carried away.” His eyes focus slowly on Percy’s lips.

His hands fall back at his sides. Percy can feel his pulse in his lips. They feel oversensitive, almost painfully so. He wonders if there’s some sort of poison in Jason’s kiss.

“It’s alright,” he whispers back as well as he can. “I suppose… I suppose, in a few years, we’ll be doing much more of that.” 

He hadn’t been expecting the extreme reaction that elicited; Jason flushes almost purple and his eyes dodge away. The book slips out of his fumbling hands hard onto the ground, flopping open.

“Oh!” he cries, dropping to his knees and delicately gathering it up. “I’m so sorry, I know how precious this must be. I – I’m not usually this clumsy, but I couldn’t quite feel my fingers for some reason –“

Percy watches him in amazement. He can hardly move.

In almost a split second, the untouchable unbeatable image of the Golden Prince has dissolved into thin air, replaced by the boy crouched at Percy’s feet, with his face flushed, his hair wild, his tongue twisted. An embarrassingly human, unbearably sweet boy, who falls all over himself not by a single kiss, but by the mere implication there might be many more to come.

It only seems right to Percy, then, to make Jason’s condition even worse, and therefore a thousand times more entertaining for him. He deserves it, for the way he has tortured Percy for the past day and a half. 

He leans forwards, his heart in his throat. Jason’s face lifts like he’s expecting it.

The second kiss is even better. Percy aims to kiss the scar on his upper lip, and Jason is very considerate about it. Their faces are hot when pressed together like this. Jason is so gentle, Percy doesn’t think he would be able to feel him if his mouth wasn’t so aware of the tiniest whisper, the smallest breath.

When they pull away, Jason’s eyes are wider and blacker than Percy has ever seen them. It seems all the redness of his face has concentrated into his mouth. Percy wants to kiss him again.

And again and again. For as long as he can.

But of course, he has to maintain his dignity in the face of daunting tasks, as his father would say. It wouldn’t do to let Jason know how much he likes him, at least not this early on. If he’s going to marry him, Jason needs to know Percy is just as princely as he is.

And besides, Percy thinks he might like teasing Jason, if he keeps turning that pretty strawberry pink each time. It’s a good change of pace, from how things had been going so far.

“Get up, then,” he says, trying not to smile. “Our librarian won’t care who you are, prince or peasant, once she sees you on the floor with her book.” He lifts his chin. “You must not get into trouble so soon into your stay. It would leave quite a mark on my name and, as you have obviously noticed by now, my reputation is stellar.”

Jason stares at him for a few seconds and then, shockingly, outrageously, he laughs. Head thrown back, throat bared, Adam’s apple catching deliciously. Percy swallows hard. If this is Jason’s usual way of laughing, Percy might just have a problem on his hands.

“You’re right,” Jason says, grinning so wide it crinkles his eyes and sends Percy’s heart racing. “I wouldn’t want anyone thinking Prince Percy is capable of disobeying his elders. How ridiculous of an idea.” 

He closes the book and lifts it towards Percy. There’s a small black freckle near the edge of his jaw Percy hadn’t noticed before. He looks forward to kissing it.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Percy replies. When he takes the book from Jason, their fingers brush. They both hold the book a bit longer than necessary. 

Jason is smiling so wide the scar on his lip has disappeared. Percy’s own cheeks are hurting. 

He clears his throat. “Now please join me on the sofa,” he says. “If we return to our parents with your clothes dusty from the floor, I’m afraid your father might wage war on mine.”

“As you wish,” Jason says, smiling sweet enough to bite, “Prince Percy.”


End file.
